Every Breath You Take
by merick
Summary: Inspired by the song Every Breath you Take by the Police. An AH spy thriller background. What if Agent N finds himself with a new, green partner, after personal loses? Can he keep it professional or will their mission draw something out of him that he wants to keep buttoned down. Who is actually watching whom?
1. Chapter 1

Every Breath You Take

His feet pounded through the undergrowth of the woods. It wasn't particularly thick at that time of year. It was too early for the twining green branches of the vines and roots, and too late for the half rotted detritus of the fall and winter. But for the purpose of his run it could have been described as a beautiful spring morning workout, sadly the reality was that it was anything but that.

She'd been missing for almost forty-eight hours when the note had arrived at his hotel room. Not that he'd been sitting idle waiting for it, but when all the leads he had, hadn't panned out, he'd returned to his hotel room (the one they were supposed to be sharing) to shower and change clothes, hoping that something else would reveal itself in the deprivation of the steam and quiet. It had, just not in the blatant manner that he had expected.

He'd last seen her in a blue gown, not in person mind you, in the security footage of the CC camera system of the casino, being led, none too gently off the floor, out to a service entrance, and then a loading dock, presumably into some kind of vehicle waiting just out of sight of the camera's eye. After he had watched it over several times, Agent **N** had spent about five minutes cursing her stupidity at getting into that situation, then about five minutes berating himself for thinking that way about her, and then the last forty two hours (give or take) trying to figure out where she'd been taken, and to what end. It should have been a simple mission, gambling, private games, high stakes, an almost insulting task for someone at his level of excellence, and but for the international drug connection, it would have been.

She was a junior agent, out on her first covert op, her innocence had been nearly the perfect cover, and hence her selection: because of all that she didn't have a great deal of intelligence that could be passed on to her captors, if that was why they had taken her in the first place. But because she was so junior, **N** felt an inordinate amount of guilt at having let her be captured. That, and the memories of the loss of two other partners, **L** and **P**, drove him to go without adequate rest in his search for her. It wasn't that he feared a reprimand for her capture, agents in their line of work met untimely ends quite often; he himself had been close to death on numerous occasions, rescued by his own wits, or astounding luck most of the time. For that reason he had a reputation, and for some other reason he chose not to ruminate on, people still wanted to work with him; and though he tried to raise the objection with his handlers, a companion made the necessary subterfuge all that much more believable. Not that everyone he worked with ended up dead, but **L** and **P**, well, he'd gotten close to them before the end, and it had hurt (not that he showed it) to lose them. **P** especially, he'd gotten in too deep with her, and it had been a hard learned lesson when he'd seen her body, bullet hole in her head, stippling demonstrating just how close her killer had been to her when he took the shot. Since that one he had worked very hard to keep it professional. But this **S**, she'd been just so young, (he cursed himself inwardly for referring to her in the past tense), so eager to learn, and to please, and he felt at times far more like a mentor to her than anything else, hence the responsibility for her abduction.

He'd been given GPS coordinates on the note and nothing else. It hadn't been hard to sort out their meaning. **N** had chosen not to share the information with his handlers immediately, just in case it was a trap for him, which he suspected it was. It was the nobility he lived by, not to draw anyone else into the line of fire if it wasn't necessary. As he ran through the woods though, he didn't sense anyone around him, and he had a sixth sense for that kind of thing, as if he could almost hear a heartbeat or a breath. No snipers waiting, it was only she at the point he'd been given, crumpled, blue gown still on her body, the crystals on the bodice now catching the sunlight as it rose and filtered through the treetops. At that point he pulled out his phone and made the call.

"**S**!" He yelled, as he stopped suddenly just before her form, feet sinking a little deeper into the dirt of the forest floor with the force of his halted footfall. "**S**! Are you okay?"

He knew it was a ridiculous question, but really it had been the first thing to roll off his tongue. Of course she wasn't okay. Her lower left leg was bent at an odd angle, mid shaft so he knew it was broken, the bodice of her gown was stained with blood, some black, some red, so **N** knew that there had been a series of assaults against her over the time she had been missing. He crashed to the ground beside her, his knees raising up motes of dust that fogged the air close to the ground for a moment. His phone, pressed to his ear was ringing, and when it was answered he barked orders into it without even waiting to find out who had picked up.

"I need a med team at my location, now!" **N** knew that the GPS in his phone was monitored constantly, he was a valuable asset, not one they let out of their sight easily. He pressed his free hand to her throat, fingers searching for a pulse and he forced himself to quiet his own breathing for a moment while he listened, barely hearing a bubbling gasp to accompany the thready beat against his fingertips.

"She's got a chest wound, lung's punctured." He spoke to the anonymous person on the other end of the line. His free hand moved to the hem of the ruined dress, pulling it up over her twisted leg. He inwardly thanked his God that the fracture, however bad it was within, had not broken through the skin, even though the bruising was fierce. "Left lower leg has a closed fracture, probably both the tibia and fibula." A knowledge of basic anatomy was mandatory study at the academy, that and trauma, which was how **N** had understood the sucking sound of the chest wound to have indicated the punctured lung. He moved around her motionless body to see her face, drawing back the long blond hair that had fallen over it, and was immediately struck by the fact that it remained perfect. He had expected to see the same sort of damage as on the rest of her; bruising on her arms, scratches on her hands, the blood staining skin and fabric. But it was untouched, and except for the tussled hair and tearstains, it seemed that whoever her abductors, they had chosen to leave her face alone. That tactic struck him as cruel instead of kind. Her features were contorted with the pain that had obviously taken her consciousness, but otherwise she was just as lovely as the vision he'd had of her as he had waited for her to rejoin him at the Blackjack table. She'd forgotten her phone in the room and had gone back to retrieve it, he should have never let her go alone. But he'd been playing his part, just as she had been playing hers. He had no idea they'd been made, and he hadn't even taken the time to consider how it had happened, he'd been so obsessed with the search.

His phone forgotten, still engaged in his hand, he brushed his fingers over her cheek, still soft, and wondered why they had left her like this? So it would be more painful for him to see her beauty along with the remnants of the torture he had been unable to prevent?

"**S**?" He whispered. "Talk to me."

Eyes fluttered, then winced with pain, arms moved and hands curled into fists.

"Sir?" The one word betrayed every agony she was feeling as she forced it past her lips.

"I'm here **S**, and the team is coming, just hold on for me." He tried to be comforting, but it came out far too professional as he heard his own voice.

"I'm dying sir." Her voice was as thin as her pulse.

"You most certainly are not." **N **forced his voice to be assertive. He reached down for her hand and gently coaxed it into relaxing in his larger one. "The team is coming for you. They'll get you out of here and to a proper hospital, you will be all right."

"I don't think so Sir." She coughed a little and then winced again, throwing her other arm over her chest and hanging on tightly. A tear squeezed from closed lids and ran down her cheek sideways as she lay against the dirt. "I've lost a lot of blood." She took another shallow breath. **N** could tell how much it hurt her to do it, evidenced by more than just her clipped sentences.

"I just want you to know." Another breath, "I didn't tell them anything."

"Of course not." **N** smiled down at her indulgently. It didn't actually surprise him that she was still trying to please him.

"I didn't." She put more force into that statement.

"I know you didn't." He let a hand brush over her skin, it was becoming clammy and that worried him.

"I need to ask you something Sir." Her eyes remained closed.

"Of course."

"A favor?"

"Anything." Her voice was fading and **N** looked backwards, the way he had come, as if by doing so he could will the med team into arriving.

"My Gran's birthday is in two weeks." Breath, "There's a card and some pictures in my desk for her." Breath, "Could you post them for me? I don't want her to think I forgot about her."

"I promise." **N** could feel his own heart starting to race even as her pulse began to slow. She was going to die right in front of him and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

"One other thing?" Her voice grew fainter.

"Yes?" He leaned in to her, to make certain he didn't miss the request.

"Stay with me here, please. I don't want to die alone."

He didn't answer immediately as a shudder ran through him. He only brushed his lips over her forehead, now quite cold and pale.

"Of course." He whispered. There was a flicker of a smile on her face and then nothing. **N **looked up and around, straining to hear the team, finally feeling the thumping footfalls vibrating though the ground. They were coming at full steam and he hoped that it would prove to be in time. "They're coming **S**." He received no response as he realized that he had not even ever asked her real name.

OOOO


	2. Chapter 2

No one spoke to him as he entered the office, no one dared. It might have been that they all know what had happened, it might have been the look on his face. Perhaps they all figured that he had finally fallen victim to the PTSD that had been threatening? Whatever the cause, **N** didn't care. It was better when people kept out of his way. He went to her desk, no one had cleaned it out, those orders hadn't been given yet, it seemed they were waiting, just like he was waiting. But he had made a promise he intended to keep. The packet was in the top drawer, it had been a lucky guess to open that one first, but there it was, right on top, a pretty pink envelope with flowers embossed along the edges, just where they needed to be for a Grandmother, and for her to have chosen. He took it, without reading the address or opening it up; not in the company of everyone else who was 'not looking' at him with pity. He walked out, without a word to anyone. Only when he had gotten behind the wheel of his car, in the underground garage, did he flip it over to see her Grandmother's name, and address. Then, for some odd reason, some desire he didn't quite understand just then, he opened the unsealed envelope to see the pictures she had put inside it.

There were pictures of the local landmarks, all the tourist places, pictures you would always send home to your Gran when you were visiting some exotic new locale. Big Ben, the statue of Lord Nelson (with the ever present pigeons), the Portobello Market, the British Museum, all absolutely benign, until he flipped the next to find Tower Hill Station, not a normal tourist spot, well, not a typical tourist spot. He looked more closely at the photo, a memory washing over him. And there he was, just in the foreground, the focus not quite on his face, though he knew himself instantly, just not how she had managed the photo. He'd taken her there, they had walked the Ripper's streets, it was something with all his new partners, to talk about how policing had evolved from that terrible, initial failure, to gauge how they would react to the truth of the mutilations and the horror. He scanned the next photo, and found himself again, in Hyde Park, when they had walked and talked about the roles they would be playing, practicing the history they needed to perfect, and then there was a third, in his car, after he had dropped her at her flat. She had been watching him, and he suddenly felt cold. He nearly tore the card as he opened it, the scrap of paper sliding from it to his lap.

"Happy Birthday Gran,

I know it's the first one where I haven't been able to get home to see you, but this new job is very demanding, in a good way of course, I don't want you to worry. There's so much to do and I can't run off just now, I've just gotten a big file to work on, and I really want to impress my new boss. He's very important in my field, and he knows everything Gran, and I just, well, I just want him to be proud of me, and what I can do. I'll make it up to you, I promise.

Here's some pictures of some of the amazing places I get to go for my work. All the places you and Grandfather used to talk about seeing. This has been such an incredible opportunity for me, making this move, taking this chance, getting to live this dream. I'd never have been able to see all of this if it hadn't been for your support. One day soon you'll come down, I'll send money for the train, and we'll get to see all these things together.

I miss you terribly, and send my love.

Sookie."

He folded the paper back together carefully, and tucked it, and the photos, all but the last one, back into the card and that packet back into its envelope. Throwing his head back against his seat he gritted his teeth together and forced himself not to cry.

Her name was Sookie.

OOOOO

"Mrs. Stackhouse?"

It hadn't taken **N** long to make the decision to deliver the letter in person. The drive, at a higher rate of speed that would normally be tolerated did him some good. Having to focus on the road, lest he stray from it and kill someone, or himself, helped him settle his thoughts. The Red Bull helped as well, since sleep had been evading him, the image of her perfect face and crumpled body haunting him whenever he shut his eyes.

The house was newly painted, surrounded by a white fence overgrown with flowering honeysuckle, looking just as he had expected it would be; the fragrance of the flowers enveloping him as he stepped from the car. He had paused to take a deep breath, closing his eyes, finding pictures of her as a young girl invading his thoughts, playing in the yard, her blond hair floating around her face. The images nearly brought a tear to his eye. He had forced himself to focus on the house, inwardly cursing the way he was suddenly starting to fall apart. It was an old English cottage if ever there had been one. He had half expected to look up to see a thatched roof, but that had been replaced at some point with the more traditional slate tiles. It took nothing away from the overall picture.

The cobbled steps led up to a front door, where **N **had knocked soundly, wondering if anyone was home, and what pursuit he might be disturbing. There had been the sound of rubber-soled shoes on a worn hardwood floor, then the squeak of the door as it opened inward.

Sookie's grandmother was an impish looking thing, a big smile, and twinkling eyes, even though she was at least two feet shorter than he. Her carriage spoke of an inbred confidence, and nobility that suited her bearing even though her circumstances were humble. She had a pride in her house; that much was obvious by how she tended her garden; well manicured, beds, with clematis, and roses, and ivy climbing the walls of the house.

"Yes, I'm Adele Stackhouse, and good afternoon to you young man." She said with a smile. The nomenclature made **N **smile as well; it had been a very long time since someone had called him young.

"Good afternoon. I have a letter for you." **N **held out the pink envelope.

"Well thank you. But you don't look like my regular postman."

"I'm not, I'm a friend of your granddaughter."

"Sookie?" Her already happy face brightened even further and she turned the card over to see Sookie's script on the envelope. "Then you must be that gentleman she always talks about, her new boss, the one who she's so taken by." Apparently the woman saw no reason to hide much of anything. **N **could appreciate that forthrightness. "But she never did tell me your name?"

"Eric." **N **held out his hand, "Eric Northman." He saw absolutely no reason not to tell this woman the truth.

"Well it's a true pleasure to meet you Eric Northman." Adele's handshake was as firm as his own. "But why hasn't Sookie come with you?"

"She's working right now I'm afraid, but when I mentioned I needed to be up this way she asked if I wouldn't mind dropping this off for you, so you would know she hadn't forgotten."

"Oh, my Sookie never forgets." Adele looked wistful just then. Eric began to feel badly that he hadn't thought to stop in and pick up a large bouquet of flowers to go along with the card.

"But where are my manners, would you like to come in Mr. Northman?"

"Oh, I really can't, not this time, I'm afraid."

"Well then perhaps you'll be able to do a favor for me?"

"If I can."

"Sookie had wanted me to send down a box of some of her things, but it's just gotten so heavy."

And likely quite expensive to post, Eric thought to himself.

"Just some of her favorite books from when she was growing up, and some photos of her and her brother."

"She has a brother?"

"Oh yes, he moved down to work the shipyards near Glasgow a few years back. This little village is no place for young people anymore. It's not so exciting around here as they need I guess? It would seem Sookie has made the choice to set herself up in London as well, what with wanting all her special things now."

"Oh, it seems a fine place to me. Sometimes a bit of quiet is something we could all use."

"You sound like a man who has seen a great deal of hardship Mr. Northman. But I suppose I shouldn't be asking such things. Not as if you need someone else watching over you."

"Mrs. Stackhouse, I would have been honored to have someone like yourself to watch over me."

"Well, perhaps Sookie will do it for me then?" She turned away, "Let me fetch that box for you then, and I won't hold you up any further."

She disappeared for a moment, returning with a file sized box that was obviously too heavy for her, and Eric took it up quickly to relieve her of the burden.

"Perhaps the next time you come back this way you'll bring Sookie." She winked, "Or she'll bring you. She can show you around this little village, and where all the fairy paths are around the back of the house. She was always such an imaginative child, making up stories about the fairy folk and their adventures."

"I look forward to it Mrs. Stackhouse, and it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He offered his free hand to her and shook hers again.

As Eric returned to his car, loading the box into the front passenger seat, he heard Adele close up the door behind herself. It was only when he took his own place behind the wheel that he felt the weight of his hypocrisy. He had actually allowed himself to dream about returning to that place with Sookie, when the fact was that she would likely never be coming back there, and that the woman he had just lied to might never see that beautiful face again. For the very first time, the duality in his nature felt like an oppressive curse instead of a challenge. He drove a little ways out of town and pulled over before daring to look at the box, not knowing just what he was going to do with it, feeling a bit like a thief, and more like a lost soul. He cursed very loudly, threw the car back into gear and drove very quickly back home.


	3. Chapter 3

Leather soled shoes, crisp cuffs with platinum links, grey suit, and a black briefcase at his side. Eric Northman felt almost like his old self, striding the hallways, not even having to issue orders to the staff that respectfully averted their eyes, and cleared his path. Cameras were turned off, monitors and mics turned down below audible, no one asking questions about his purpose as he closed himself into the room, silent guard still in his place at the door. But of course, that was where the similarities to his previous life ended.

He knew that the people outside, the nurses and doctors believed that he was there to monitor the patient, to ensure that should she wake up that they could ascertain what she might have given up. No chances were ever taken. Her home had already been searched, not that anyone would have known it to look at the place. Every electronic device had been examined, every file and book and possible covert hiding spot gone through, every wall, ceiling tile and floorboard swept for anything amiss. He had supervised the entire operation. The reports on the computers were still outstanding, but nothing else had turned up. Eric admitted some relief at that.

He sat in the only chair in the room, dragging it to her bedside. She looked much the same as the day before, a tube in her throat to help her breathe, another through her nose to feed her, more in her arms for fluids and meds. Her leg was positioned carefully in a lambswool sling of sorts, no cast, but angry scars, peppered with staples betraying the surgeries that had put the shattered bones back together. As before, her face was perfect, even with the pink tape. The nurses had done their best to keep her hair clean and brushed, and the lack of makeup only seemed to enhance the peaceful calm of her sleeping. Opening his briefcase Eric wondered at what those people outside really thought. Sookie had been in this coma for a week, with no signs of escaping it, exactly what did they really think was going on? Or were they just scared enough, or well paid enough to avoid asking those questions of themselves? He withdrew a book and opened it to the last place he had stopped reading.

"Then he looked by him, and was ware of a damosel that came riding full fast as the horse might ride, on a fair palfrey. And when she espied that Lanceor was slain, she made sorrow out of measure, and said, 'O Balin, two bodies thou hast slain and one heart, and two hearts in one body, and two souls thou hast lost.' And therewith she took the sword from her love that lay dead, and fell to the ground in a swoon."

Le Morte D'Arthur had been the very topmost book in the box Adele had given him. Dog-eared and worn, it had in its company fairy stories and mythologies, but the tales of the knights had spoken to Eric, and so he had selected it to read to her, in the faint hope that something familiar might bring her back. He chanced to reach out and touch her hand carefully as he paused in his reading. Her skin was warm, that was a mercy at least. Everything else was far too quiet. Not to say she had been talkative before; far from it, she had seemed quite the pensive, careful creature as he had gone over the mission with her, and the rules, and their back story. But there had been such a life in her blue eyes then, such an eagerness in her face that had been replaced by a blankness that simply made him feel sad.

"Wake up for me Sookie." He whispered, not really expecting any type of response.

OOOO

'Most noble king', said Dame Lyonesse, 'wit you well that my lord, Sir Gareth, is to me more lever to have and wield as my husband, than any king or prince that is christened; and if I may not have him I promise you I will never have none. For my lord Arthur,' said Dame Lyonesse, 'wit ye well he is my first love, and he shall be the last; and if ye will suffer him to have his will and free choice I dare say he will have me.'

It had been nearly three weeks that Eric had been attending that hospital room, closing himself in, secure in the knowledge that no one knew what he was doing, opening the briefcase and pulling out the book.

"This story is nearly done Sookie." He mused, mostly for himself because he was starting to lose the hope that she would ever respond. "I will read you some Fairy stories next I suppose. Your Grandmother told me about the Fairy paths, I wonder what kind of stories you made up for yourself amongst those paths, I wonder, perhaps you are part Fairy yourself." He stroked two fingers over the back of her left hand. "I wish you could tell me."

The reports from her electronics had come in, all completely benign, no social networking faux-pas, no untoward emails, not even any tumblr history of questionable photographs. The only recent pictures they had found were similar to the ones she had included in the envelope to her Grandmother. Yes, there had been the photos of him, but for some reason he had told the investigation team that he had known about them (which had been a half truth at best), and had agreed to them being taken. He was buying her (and himself, in truth) some time.

"I need to know the truth of you Sookie Stackhouse." He whispered, and then fell silent, listening to his own breaths, and the sound of the machine helping hers along. The faint moan was almost lost within them.

"Sookie?"

Her eyelids began to flutter, and a second, louder, choked moan perked up his senses, and his hope along with it.

"Sookie? Don't try to talk, I'll fetch the doctor." Eric was up and out of the room with more animation than any of the nurses had ever seen. "Get the Doctor, now!"

OOOO

Eric hadn't known how to act; he had spent the better part of three weeks building up a relationship in his mind that had never really existed. Sookie had gone from his partner to something more (and those boundaries had gotten quite blurred), not that she had any idea. She hadn't really heard any of the whispers, or felt any of the careful touches, or seen the expressions on his face as he had looked at her, watching every breath. As far as she knew, he was still her lead, her mentor, the epitome of an agent and that was the truth that everyone else knew as well.

"Are you ready Sookie?" The doctors had released her from their care, and he had volunteered to shepherd her home safely, since she still wouldn't be able to drive until her pinned leg and wasted muscles strengthened.

"Yes Sir." The formal tone made his heart feel like ice, and he steeled his face against the disappointment that threatened. He watched silently as she arranged the crutches under her arms, she'd had a few days to practice, so her movements were fairly fluid as she negotiated her way out of the hospital room and down the hallway. He offered her help into his car, which, as he thought about it, was rather ill suited to someone with mobility issues, being quite low to the ground. Though it did offer him the chance to hold her hand, and wrap an arm around her waist. He noted, with some confusion, that she trembled a little as he did so. He asked after her comfort and she replied that she was fine, again in a guarded tone. He focused himself on his driving as he had on the journey to her Grandmother's, and took her back to her flat. Parking, he helped her up the few stairs and through the door, but once he had her inside though, he could remain silent no longer.

"I need you to tell me what happened to you."

He had not asked while she had been in hospital, he could not bring himself to add to her pain in any way. But suddenly, selfishly, he was feeling his own pain, and that threw him into his professional mode, much like driving, as a means of distracting himself from his own feelings.

"Is it just the two of us listening?"

"What do you mean?"

"I assume the team has been through my house. They've done a good job putting everything back to rights." Eric watched as she surveyed the place visually. "Have they left anything behind?"

He saw no reason to lie to her, she was intelligent, she knew that a sweep was standard protocol after any agent was compromised, and he did not intend to insult her by denying it.

"No they haven't." She looked at him, gauging the truth of his response. She seemed to find the answer she wanted in his eyes.

"Okay then."

Sookie hobbled into the great room of her flat, and rested her crutches against the breakfast bar, which separated her kitchen from the living area; the television, some bookshelves, a small desk, and a couch. She turned to him, leaning just beside the crutches.

"They grabbed me just outside the elevators. They were quick, just hustled me out of the hotel and into a waiting car. I don't know where they drove me, they put something over my eyes, and restrained my hands." She rubbed her wrists, unconsciously remembering the bonds, Eric assumed.

"What did they say to you? How did they question you?"

"They didn't."

"They didn't?" Eric was very confused.

"With the exception of numerous derogatory terms they called me, and multiple threats to rape me, they said little else."

Eric had never even considered that they might have assaulted Sookie in that way, and he had not questioned the doctors about it either. He cursed the omission.

"Did they?" He asked, very softly.

"No." Her jaw was firm as she said it.

He quietly thanked God for that.

"The first few hours they left me completely alone, in the dark, I suppose they hoped to unnerve me. When they brought me out into the light they began to hurt me. One held me by the arms," that explained the bruising there, "while another one broke my ribs."

"They didn't ask you any questions about the mission?"

"No, and I gave them nothing, not even my screams until they broke my leg. After that they mentioned your name, your real name."

"They knew who I was?"

"Eric Northman?"

"Yes. They probably knew just who we were the minute we walked into that casino. Damn it!" Eric curled his hands into fists. Sookie hadn't been taken to extract information; she'd been taken, and tortured to prove a point, to demonstrate what the cartel saw as their superiority. The agency's intelligence had been all wrong, and an innocent girl had paid the price for his arrogance, thinking that he was somehow untouchable, invincible.

"I guess I had served my purpose when they left me in the woods and put that knife into my chest?" She continued, hand wrapped tightly over her chest.

"I'm sorry." He offered.

"Don't be." She had put on her own mask as she had related the story, her tone matter of fact and cold, as if she was speaking in the third person; delivering a report, which was, Eric supposed, exactly what he had asked of her. Not that it made him feel any better, especially knowing he still had one more question to ask.

"Why didn't you ask me if the team had found anything when they went through your home?"

"Because I knew there was nothing to find."

"Then I have to ask you," Eric pulled out the photograph he'd been carrying in his breast pocket for three weeks, "What's this?" He held it up so she could see it.

Sookie went quiet for a moment, her toughened exterior visibly falling as she looked at the rumpled picture of Eric in his car.

"You sent the card to my Gran." She whispered, letting her head drop.

"I drove it out myself. She seems like a very lovely woman."

"She is the strongest person I've ever known. To lose both of her children, and her husband, and to keep on going, to raise two grandbabies on her own; she's my rock." She took a deep breath, "Thank you."

"Why are you taking pictures of me Sookie?" He braced himself for an answer he didn't want to hear.

"It isn't what you think." She spoke to the floor.

"That you're the one who revealed my identity?"

She nodded.

"I can't believe that." He heard the ambiguity of his words as they tumbled from his lips, and he wondered how she would understand his words.

"It isn't, it wasn't me, I swear." Eric could hear the concealed tears in the way her voice cracked.

"Then why?"

"I just thought, I mean, I wanted to, oh hell, I just wanted to remember you." She stammered.

"Remember me?" Eric was very confused.

"I just didn't think that we'd ever work together again. I mean after you saw how green I was and all. And you're so handsome, and intelligent; when I dreamed at night I wanted to see your face, and I just, I wanted to remember you."

"You did this?" Eric stopped, dumbfounded at the truth.

"I couldn't tell you, you would have thought I was unprofessional, and you'd have had me reassigned right then and there." She looked up at him, her face the picture of misery. He could find nothing to say.

"And I lied to you about something else Eric." It seemed she needed to come clean about everything just then. "When we were in the woods, when I asked you the favors?"

"Yes?"

"When I asked you to stay with me, so I wouldn't be alone, when I thought I was going to die?"

"Yes?" The anxiety in his chest was all consuming.

"I really wanted to ask you to kiss me. I didn't want to die without knowing what it felt like. But I was too frightened to."

"You wanted me to kiss you?" His eyes were wide, and he imagined he looked the picture of bewilderment.

"I still do."

"Oh thank God." Eric crossed to where she stood in two steps, put his hands alongside her face, tipped it upwards to his and forced his mouth over hers.

Her face was wet from tears but it didn't stop him. Parting her lips with his he entered her mouth, tasting her, pressing his body against hers, knowing she would have to feel every physical manifestation of his desire for her. To feel her kiss him back, with the same vigor only encouraged his desperation, and he kissed her harder, clutching her to himself, breaking them apart only when he needed to breathe.

He leaned his forehead against the wall, and took some deep breaths; Sookie had let hers lean against his chest, which just made it easier for him to wrap his arms around her. She did not pull away; in fact she let her arms run carefully around his back, resting them at his waist. Her own breaths warmed his skin, even through the dress shirt he was wearing, almost as if she was trying to thaw out the heart that had been frozen for so long. Feeling her move after a few minutes of silence he turned his head to look into her face.

Her blue eyes were wide, her lips, beautifully red from his attentions, and her cheeks flushed with pink, perhaps the healthiest he had seen her in weeks. Her mask had fully dissolved, and Eric thought that this was perhaps the most honest he had ever seen her, her true self. He hoped that the face he was showing her was just as sincere.

"Was it what you wanted?" He whispered.

She nodded, biting her lower lip in a precious sort of way that endeared her even more to Eric.

"I want to kiss you again." He asked.

She nodded a second time.

That kiss was done more softly, carefully, as Eric wanted to breathe in her scent, feel the fullness of her lips against his, and remember.

"You know where my bedroom is?" His answer to the inquiry was sweeping her up into his arms to take her there. The moment they were through the doorway though, she went stiff in his arms, and asked him to put her down. He did.

"My photos?" She looked at him with confusion, "And my books? I don't understand."

"Your Grandmother gave me a box of your things to bring to you," Eric began, "I thought I should put them in here for you."

Sookie took a cautious step towards the photo frames and books that Eric had arranged on her dresser. It was obvious that she was still hesitant about her leg, and weight bearing on it as her hands went out to the edge of the piece of furniture, wrapping over it.

"My brother." She whispered as she fingered the pewter frame.

"He works in the shipyards, is that right?"

"He should be at sea trials right now, he was supposed to go at the end of the month. This was us in Gran's back garden."

"With the fairy paths?"

"My Gran told you a lot of things didn't she?"

"She did."

"And why is this book not stacked with the others?" Sookie reached for the worn copy of Le Morte D'Arthur.

"I brought it to the hospital for you."

"You, you read it to me?" A glimmer of some kind of recognition flickered in her eyes.

"I did."

"You came to the hospital to see me?" It was her turn to look confused.

"Every day."

"Every day? Why?"

"So you wouldn't be alone."

She began to cry.

He went to her and enfolded her in his arms, holding her as she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of the agency sweatshirt they had given her at the hospital to wear.

"Thank you."

Eric kissed the top of her head, lingering in her blond hair, loving its softness against his lips.

"I couldn't leave you Sookie, not again."

Sookie looked up at him, and moved to kiss him that time, her own lips parted, inviting him within. He took up the invitation and chanced to touch her, taking his hands to her hips, and running them northward, underneath the fleece, contacting her skin, making them both tremble.

Shyly she bowed her head, and took an awkward, unsteady step away from him.

"There are scars." She said.

"We all have scars."

Standing his ground, Eric slipped out of his tweed jacket, laying it over the trunk at the foot of her bed. With deliberate pauses he unfastened each of his platinum cufflinks, placing them on her dresser, beside Le Morte D'Arthur, and began to unbutton his shirt, all the while staring at her. He slid his right arm out of its sleeve, then the left, revealing his tight abdomen and his own secrets.

Across his skin, running from his navel to the inferior aspect of his right rib cage were three jagged lines, raised red they looked almost like animal claws, though the animal they had come from walked upright and possessed its own malice of forethought. On his left shoulder was a white circular scar, concave, with radiating points from the force of the penetration and the deliberate tears of the surgeon's scalpel. It had been the first time he had been shot, so many years ago, and there was a similar scar posteriorly on his shoulder; they had called it a through and through in the emergency room.

"Oh Eric." Sookie reached out to touch his skin. Staying quite still Eric let her fingertips gently touch the scars that still had no real sensation; not that it stopped him from trembling as she did so. As she rested her small hand against his skin he covered it with his, and let himself be led back to her body as she moved and gave him permission. His hands slid up her sides, pushing the sweatshirt along with them, till he reached the lateral swells of her ample breasts. She closed her eyes as he lingered there, cupping them, feeling their firmness, imagining, and finally pulling the shirt off over her head.

"You are so beautiful." He told her. Yes, she had the scars and the still fading bruises of the broken ribs and the cruel adhesives from the monitors, but Eric meant every word. He backed her slowly towards the bed where his hands went to the ties on the green, hospital scrub pants, pulling them free, letting them pool to the ground around her ankles. Completely exposed to him she was a picture of sculpted beauty, as perfect as any masterpiece behind museum stanchions. She sat, then lay back, Eric coming to hover over her, climbing atop the bed, keeping his eyes locked with hers, maneuvering her to place her head atop the pillow.

"I want you." He whispered into her ear as he leaned down to nuzzle her neck.

Her response was to lace her arms around his hips again, and to push against the waistband of his trousers. With one arm bent, and supporting him over her body he used his other hand to undo the button and clip at his waist, pushing one side down and away, while her hands did the rest. With a few awkward shimmies he had cast off his pants, and, like her, there remained nothing else as a barrier between them. With a held breath he let his hips come to rest atop hers, his body hard and exquisitely sensitive as it brushed over her skin. She moaned at the touch and arched just a little into his flesh.

Dipping his head he kissed her neck again, and trailed his mouth down her chest to those perfect breasts. The weeks in the hospital had faded the sun glowing tan she had, but it had left a perfect, creamy replacement, crowned with dark centers that begged for his attention. Holding his frenzied desires in check he lapped at each in turn, slowly, drawing out each caress, feeling her arch again towards him, hearing a quiet moan, nearly hearing the pounding of her heart. Her hands went limp on his back and slipped to her sides as he took control of her every breath.

Sliding down her body Eric hooked his arms under her legs and coaxed them apart gently, burying himself between, drinking in the scent of her arousal and the sight of her; ready for any attention he wished to bring to her. A quick kiss provoked a start, a longer, deeper one a shudder that ran the length of her body, the muscles in her legs tensing and holding fast.

"Eric." She spoke on a breath. He found he loved hearing the sound of his real name. It had been so long, such a journey of other personalities and other mask, fake smiles and insincere vows, to hear someone call out for him, the real him, was intoxicating. He pursued her peak with vigor, holding her as still as he dared, the injury to her left leg still in the back of his mind.

"Oh, God, I need you." She cried out. It was all he wanted to hear. Breaking away from her he shifted his gaze to her eyes, a sparkling blue, staring right through him. "In the drawer." She turned her head, but not her eyes. Eric reached for it, pulling out a box.

"Clever girl." He smiled and tore open the box, taking up the foil sealed square. In a moment he was sheathed and poised. In another he was entering her, her cry matching his as he buried himself within her, feeling the strength of her body embracing him.

Her nails dug into his back as he thrust, both of them panting with the exertion of their joining, both of them keeping as much contact as possible between their bodies. Eric felt the muscles in his own arms tensing, a mixture of his building orgasm, and the strength of keeping himself from collapsing on top of her. He knew he couldn't hold out against both. He let his head fall.

"Say my name again; please, say my name again." It required such exertion to even form the sentence, to say nothing of actually saying it out loud.

"Eric. Please Eric. Oh God." For a moment she was still, and then everything tightened, her hands, her arms, her body, around him, taking his powerful thrusts and keeping them as he too let himself go, catching her limp body in one arm, pressing her to his chest as his peak robbed him of most everything sensible. Then he collapsed alongside her, heavy breaths cutting through the air as he scrabbled for her hand, pulling it to his mouth, kissing it, suckling her fingertips, tasting her salt and lavender.

"I was lost without you." He whispered as he let his eyes close and his body sink into the rumpled sheets. He pressed her hand against his heart. "I want you to feel every breath, because you put them there."

Thanks so much for taking the time to read my story. I don't do a lot of AH work, so forgive any inconsistencies. Thanks to my Awesome Beta Char, who made me really think, and really polish.

Merick


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